


Seven Stages

by avaalons



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 16:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11878305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaalons/pseuds/avaalons
Summary: Facing your ex at work.





	Seven Stages

1

What. The. _Fuck_?

That was your reaction when you heard the news that your ex-boyfriend was being cast opposite you in the movie you’d worked long and hard to be a part of.

The nausea overwhelmed you almost immediately, all your floating-on-air happiness at actually scoring the role drifting off into the distance like a lost balloon. 

How were you supposed to be expected to deal with this? It’s not like you were just going to be working alongside each other like you would in any other job in the world. You were going to be romantic interests! The whole narrative revolved around this relationship! You’d be spending every day for the foreseeable future pretending to be in love with your ex-boyfriend. 

No, you told yourself quickly, calm down. You were professionals. Exes had started opposite each other in acting roles before. All you needed to do was get in that head space where you weren’t you and Chris wasn’t Chris. 

You could do this.

_You could._

It’d be fine.

2

It was not fine. No matter how many times Chris told himself he just get on with this, he quickly realised there was no ‘just’ about it. It was hellish. 

He tried so hard, so, so hard to not see you as you but your scent was the same when you brushed by him, the feel of your skin under his hands when you had to touch, the press of your body against his when his character brought yours in for a hug. For some reason, he just couldn’t compartmentalise you. It was all too familiar. And it was holding back his performance, he could feel it. 

Worst of all, tomorrow was the biggie. A silly argument about misunderstood feelings, resulting in a hot and heavy make out session leading to a night spent together. 

Chris lay awake in his rented apartment, wondering if you were over analysing this as much as he was. If he’d been struggling up to now to compartmentalise, this was going to be a whole new ball game. There would be close ups and longing stares, laboured breathing and skin-on-skin. Chris willed his brain to work with him, not against him and, as if you could sense his dread, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, illuminating to inform him of your message.

**Please don’t freak out on me tomorrow. This movie is big deal for me. Get your head in the character. We’re not us.**

You knew, of course you did. You’d been able to sense all along how much he was struggling separating reality from fiction. 

His first response was to be defensive and he quickly typed out a message telling you that he wasn’t freaking out, he was a professional thank you very much and he had no feelings so there was no problem. He concluded that it sounded like it was you having the problem, not him. 

He’d never lied to you like that. 

You didn’t reply.

3

You bristled when you saw him on set, remembering the anger that had kept you from a restful sleep the previous night. Make up had had a job on their hands this morning. 

But you shook it off. You had to prove him wrong now, after all, even though you’d seen the subtle hints that betrayed his discomfort during all your days working together. You couldn’t help the feelings of rejection. You knew it would be difficult but you didn’t think he would be so repulsed or unsettled by your company. Had he met someone else? Did he look at you now and wonder what had he ever seen in you?

It was the bedroom scene first. The set had been readied, the lights dimmed, the ambience created, and you were sat in your fold out chair, wearing a robe, very, very interested in your phone and not much else.

The sickening anxiety rose in your stomach and you tapped your foot repetitively against the chair leg to hide the slight tremble of your limbs. You ran through the shots in your mind, trying to make it seem like a check list, something to get to the end of, cold and clinical. 

You glanced upwards through your lashes and saw Chris talking to the director. He was wearing his robe too and you knew from your own state of undress that there wouldn’t be much underneath it. They were chatting and nodding and gesticulating towards the set, the director laying out his vision for Chris’ role in the scene. 

Then, all too soon, you were called.

4

Chris could feel your heart racing. The first shot was going to be medium close up, you laying down together and moving into the shot, gently, you underneath his body, his arms encasing you, gazes locked, the warm glow of the lamps illuminating your skin. He knew there’d be some appropriately sensual music laid over the top in post-production. It was a romantic, intimate moment, the couple finally admitting their true feelings, finally giving in to where they’d been headed all along. 

And as he laid you down, hands caressing you, lips ghosting your skin, it was suddenly all too much for him. He couldn’t do this, not in front of all these people, not with everything you’d shared. He felt like he’d literally just let a camera into his bedroom and he was exposed and vulnerable. All his feelings and emotions laid bare on this film set. 

He jumped up like your skin burned him. He didn’t miss your expression of devastation, of humiliation, but it wasn’t enough to keep him there.

‘I’m…I’m sorry.’

And he rushed towards his trailer.

5

_Son of a…_

You lay there, embarrassed beyond belief. ‘Cut’ had been yelled and after a few moments of surprised blinking, an assistant or two ran out after Chris while one thoughtfully handed you your robe. 

You told him, warned him not to freak out. And now, here you were, practically naked on a cold, draughty set made to look warm and cosy, unable to film your scene because your ex couldn’t even bring himself to _pretend_ to be attracted to you.

The fuming anger spread through you pretty quickly after that, fuelled by the humiliation, and you stormed off towards his trailer, blazing.

You thumped on the door twice before letting yourself in unceremoniously. 

‘What the HELL do you think you’re doing?’ You stood, arms folded, directing the full fury of your gaze towards where he sat, head in hands, still only clad in boxer briefs.

He shook his head wearily, ‘I can’t. It’s too much.’

You swallowed your pride, your tone scolding, 'Listen Chris. I know this is tough given our history, but you’ve been in this business long enough to be able to get over it when you’re not attracted to someone. You’re literally getting paid to pretend you’re desperate to be with me, so just get over yourself and do it. Don’t mess this up for me, _please_.’

He was silent for a long moment, before he sighed deeply and looked up at you, his arms falling into a shrug, defeated.

'I don’t need to pretend.’

6

You were frozen in shock, rooted to the spot where you stood, trying to process what you’d heard him say. 

Eventually you found your tongue but when you spoke it was barely more than a gravelly whisper, 'What?!’

He stood up then, needing to gain some semblance of control. He was irritated, frustrated with himself.

'You heard me,’ he barked out a humourless laugh, throwing his hands in the air, his voice verging on aggressive. 'I said I don’t need to pretend. Any of it. I don’t need to pretend to find you the most attractive woman on the planet, or pretend that I want to make earth shattering, intimate love to you, or pretend that I want to spend every single waking moment of my life with you. Because it’s all fucking true. And that’s why I can’t do it. You don’t feel the same and it’s too fucking raw.’

He had paced the small space of his trailer while all of his feelings came tumbling out, expecting you to turn on your heel and leave. 

This was easily the most unprofessional thing he had ever done and you wouldn’t forgive him easily. 

7

You were still in shock, the version of events he was telling you so different from what you had conjured in your own mind. He wasn’t uncomfortable because he was repulsed… it was the complete opposite. It was a revelation and you couldn’t help the smile that began to form on your mouth. 

You took tentative steps towards him where he leaned on his arms against the back of a chair, weary from his outburst. He turned to look at you warily as you stepped closer, his blue eyes dark from the weight of the burden he had been carrying. 

You ran a hand along his jaw, smoothing across his beard, before cupping the back of his head and tugging his mouth down to meet yours. The kiss was slow and heady, the mark of two people who already knew each other intimately. It was the delicious, languid rolling of tongue against tongue and, once he had stopped being surprised, Chris wrapped both hands around the space between the bottom of your ear and your neck, drawing your face even closer to his, keeping you there so he could kiss and kiss you, deeper and deeper, and finally soothe the craving he’d been having for months. 

You both had to breathe eventually, and you rested your foreheads together, your palms pressed against his chest (you always had loved feeling the muscles under your fingertips there) and him keeping firm hold of your head. 

'Come with me and put all of that into the scene, please. We can make this look really fucking good.’

You could practically hear his heart drop as disappointment flooded his face, thinking you just wanted to placate him enough into completing the scene, and he released the hold on your jaw, but you held him firm.

'Don’t misunderstand me, Chris. We need to go out there and give the performance of our lives but then I sure as hell want you to take me back to your apartment and make, what was it? Earth shattering, intimate love to me. For real. All night. If you can.’

He regarded you for a moment, organising his thoughts, before pulling your face back to his.

'Every night,’ he clarified, making it very clear where he wanted this to go.

'I’m yours,’ you whispered, agreeing wholeheartedly.


End file.
